


Cadence

by emirozus



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emirozus/pseuds/emirozus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth walks away from Grady Memorial with her sister's arms wrapped tight around her waist, and Daryl's hand warm on her back. Canon divergence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. repair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm fucking furious, and i know everyone else is too. i hope i can contribute this fix-it fic to the fandom, because god knows we need it. stay strong, babes. xx

 

 

i.

Beth knows she kept the scissors for a reason.

Its presence is a cool touch against the skin of her arm. The point digs into her skin a little but she likes it; it keeps her alert, reminds her not to get comfortable. It’s what she needs, given the situation.

When Dawn comes into Carol’s room, Beth is sitting on the edge of the bed with Carol’s hand in hers. Beth notices the urgency. Dawn says something about Rick Grimes, but her voice is hard again, nothing like the softness which she speaks about Hanson or her personal life with. Beth recognizes it; it’s a challenge of authority, it’s Dawn’s self-confidence crumbling. It’s more alarming than Rick’s name in itself, and it has Beth on edge.

It’s a bad sign, so Beth keeps her guard up.

Her grip on Carol’s wheelchair is a formality at most—the woman seems mostly functional, the miracle that is. Carol shoots her a worrisome glance, and Beth smiles out of assurance, following Dawn’s orders step by step.

And God—when she sees her family, it takes every bone in her body not to react. Dawn’s grip on her arm is tight and bruising, but she does not resist, because this is the time to follow rules.

Or at least it should be, until Dawn ruins it all with Noah’s name.

In that moment, Beth sees red. She’s never been so angry before, never felt such _contempt_ and _rage_ seep through her bones. It’s ungodly, and it’s sinful, but Beth is beyond societal and religious correctness now. Beth is done with the rules, done with this blind faith and trust. Beth makes a decision.

Beth slides the scissors out of her cast. “I get it now,” she says. Beth stabs Dawn, and for a split second, she expects death.

 

 

 

 

ii.

Except it doesn’t come, because Beth is smart, and she knows Dawn better than Dawn knows her. Her free hand pins Dawn’s gun down against her hip, and the reflexive gunfire skims Beth’s leg through her jeans, but she doesn’t focus on the pain. The scissors embed into Dawn’s skin, right in the hollow of her throat, and Dawn looks betrayed. Surprised. Horrified. There is blood in her mouth and her teeth are tainted red and the hand Beth is clasping goes loose and Dawn falls to her knees, bleeding out in the floor of a place that is supposed to prevent death, not cause it.

And again, she expects death because of the click of guns around her, but the cops prove her wrong. “We just wanted her gone,” the woman gasps frantically. “You can stay, you can go—“

“We’ll go,” Beth says, blooding spattering her face and her hair and her sweater. She is a warrior and survivor in that moment, battle wounds and all. “We’re going.”

Beth leaves and her family follows behind her, Daryl’s hand warm on her back.

 

 

 

 

iii.

Beth also does not expect her sister to be in the courtyard, waiting for her.

It’s almost like a scene from those old movies that her and her momma used to curl up on the couch and watch on Friday nights, hot tea and fresh-baked sweets on a platter between them. Maggie runs, pumps her legs with tears on her face and a grin that would put the sun to shame. She screams her name loud and fierce like the lion she is, stumbling and shaking, and Beth catches her, sinking to the ground. They are surrounded by dead walkers and there’s a wound on Beth’s leg, but everything about this reunion is idyllic, and Beth wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Oh, Beth,” Maggie cries. The blood on Beth’s face smears under Maggie’s loving touch, her fingers brushing across her scars, through her baby hair, around her jaw and her lips. Beth is rigid with shock and glee, and her fingers put slight pressure on Maggie’s forearms as her sister checks her, looking across her body towards the bloody stain on Beth’s pants.

Maggie breathes, “You’re hurt.” The wound was slight, the bullet skimming her skin and hitting the floor. Beth is proud of it.

“It’s nothing,” Beth whispers. “I’ll be okay.”

Her sister laughs and kisses her forehead. “Damn right,” her voice is shaky but earnest. “Us Greene girls always come out okay.”

And Beth swears, if her daddy was listening, he’d echo Maggie’s words.

 

 

 

 

iv.

Beth sits in the back of the van, Maggie to her left, and Daryl to her right.

There’s something about this moment that makes Beth wish Glenn still had his polaroid camera. She wants to remember this occasion, wants to see what it looks like—a glowing, strong woman, a dirty and gruff man, and a slight blonde girl with scars, blood, and bruises all over her body in between. She’s sure it’s a beautiful sight.

Maggie’s head is tucked into the crook of Beth’s neck. Beth understands that this is what Maggie needs right now. It’s never been like this—where Beth is giving the comfort, where Maggie is the one curled up in to Beth’s body instead of the opposite. Maggie clutches Beth’s left arm and holds her close, content with her half of Beth’s body.

Beth turns her head towards Daryl, not quite looking up at him, but she can see the whiskers on his chin in her peripheral. Sees him turn his head a little towards her, his lips thin and curved at the edges. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what’s appropriate for this moment. She can’t think about anything other than Maggie on her shoulder, Daryl’s knees touching hers, Daryl looking at her in the dim candlelight with this _look_ on his face.

Beth opens her mouth to speak, but Daryl interrupts her. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet and rumbling in the racket of the van. He sounds so _sad_ , so defeated and guilty that it strikes Beth’s heartstrings, makes her body hurt for this man who has the world on his shoulders because of his own individual conception of duty and responsibility. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, and he breaks on the last syllable, recovering with a small gasp and a deep, solid breath.

She looks at him then, and their eyes meet. Daryl is vulnerable and Beth notices it. His eyes flicker to her cheek, and he hesitantly brings his hand up, tracing the scar on her cheek first, then focusing his gaze on the one across her forehead. The bruising is still there, so Beth’s sure she’s a pretty sight, yellow and blue and bloody, little Beth Greene stitched back up.

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” Beth replies. She knows he won’t accept it.

“Nah.” His eyes drop to her shoulder, as if to escape her own gaze. “There’s somethin’.”

Beth quirks her lips and brings her hand up to rest on top of the one across his knee. His palm twitches beneath her hand, warm and calloused but familiar nonetheless. He spreads his fingers apart so hers can slip through his, and it’s like the funeral home all over again.

“Nothin’ to forgive, then.” Her voice is soft, insistent.

Daryl hums, squeezing her fingers tighter between his. His voice is weak but sincere when he says, “Yer somethin’ else, Greene.”

Beth supposes she is.

 

 

 

 

v.

It’s Judith that makes her cry.

The group stops at Father Gabriel’s church to gather their belongings and settle for a moment, all but rushing out of Atlanta while they had the chance. Beth’s heart finally returns to a normal pace when she climbs out of the van, trees around her and fresh forest air attacking her senses. Maggie Is latched to her side and Daryl is ever-present behind her, but her eyes are on Michonne and the baby in her arms.

Michonne notices, and her wide smile grows as Beth cautiously approaches. “I think she missed ya.”

Beth smiles a little, her hands coming up to reach for the baby—but, she stops. Michonne is halfway handing Judith to her when her brows furrow in confusion, Judy lingering between them, reaching for Beth’s ponytail.

Beth’s hands are bloody. It’s under her nails, dried into the creases on her knuckles and her palm. It’s Dawn, who haunts her even in her death, a lingering and persistent presence in Beth’s conscious. And suddenly, Beth is horrified, because her hands are tainted and covered in death and murder, and she almost touched Judith. She looks at her hands in front of her, Michonne and Maggie and Daryl watching, and she feels her spine stiffen.

Daryl moves first, stepping forward and un-shouldering his pack. There’s water and a rag inside, and he quietly soaks it before taking her hands in his and cleaning them. It’s intimate, and it’s personal, and Beth feels this invisible thread between them tighten as he scrubs at the grooves of her skin. He cleans up her sin and replaces it with his affection, and Beth thinks she feels a movement beneath her flesh—in her _bones_ —from the way he holds her, and she knows that this man has feelings for her deeper and more rooted than the earth itself, and maybe she feels the same. Her eyes are locked onto his bigger and tanner hands wrapping around and through hers, weaving in and out of the spaces between her fingers, repairing what is broken, what is tarnished.

When she is clean and Daryl looks at her with finality, Beth holds Judith. The child is a familiar and comfortable weight against her hip, and the emotion of it all is too much. Even little Beth Greene has been exposed to the horror that this world brings, but Judith is pure and clean and protected. Beth is shaken by the juxtaposition of this moment, of the difference between the Beth Greene that last held Judith and the one that holds her now.

The tears come with a strangled sob, and she holds Judith to her chest. Maggie touches her arm, holds her close. She is halfway conscious of the way Daryl’s fingers brush against her shoulder blade, as if he wanted to touch her but he wasn’t quite committed to the action yet.

In this moment, Beth knows it’ll be okay. She’s made it; she’s survived.

There’s nothing left to do now but _live_.

 

 


	2. convalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth adjusts to her newfound freedom with help along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to this has been amazing. it's been sad, but it's been genuine and heartbreaking but i feel every one of those emotions alongside y'all. i see y'all on tumblr grieving and i'm scrolling along, nodding my lil' head and going "yep. that's it. that's how i feel." no one's alone in this-- we all are handling it in our own way. this is my catharsis (pretending these scenarios in my head are real, fml) and i'm absolutely TOUCHED to hear that this fic is that for some of you. 
> 
> & to nat-- i don't speak portuguese, sweet girl, but i can tell from a rough translation i managed to get that i'm right beside you, and i'm sorry for what you're feeling.

 

i.

Rosita is the one who pulls Beth to the back of the church, a strip of clean t-shirt in one hand and some water in the other. Her gentle smile helps ease Beth to the ground, her back against the cracking wood, her hair getting tangled in the splinters.

“Let’s get those pants off so I can see the damage,” Rosita says with a quirk of the lips, crouching down beside her.

The wound looks and feels a lot worse now that Beth’s anger and adrenaline has worn off. It stings as Rosita helps her pull the tight denim off her hips, and Beth hisses as she tilts her head back, trying to ignore the needle-like shocks of pain. Rosita’s voice is reassuring as she peels back the material, gentle despite her unfamiliarity. She dabs at the wound with ease and caution, and Beth’s hands fist in to the ground. At the hospital, Dr. Edwards had always slipped her medicine when she was in pain. But out here, she has to face it head on, gritting her teeth and managing it all on her own.

The bullet only grazed her, but it was deep enough to take out a small chunk of her flesh. Rosita bandages the wound with the t-shirt, making it tight enough to stay snug. She helps Beth stand and pull her pants back up, bloody fabric and a hole being the only evidence now.

Rosita looks at her then, studying her, but her expression is soft and almost affectionate. Beth feels a flicker of _something_ —this woman she doesn’t even know cares about her, has treated her and helped her. She is supportive without words, and she doesn’t even know Beth at all.

It’s a beautiful thing to do.

“Thank you,” Beth says, her lips pulling up at the corners.

Rosita grins cheekily this time, nudging Beth’s hip in the process. “It’s nothing, sweetie. Just helping out where I can.”

Beth purses her lips as Rosita leads her around a large branch, her pigtail tickling Beth’s face. “You were with Maggie?”

“Yep,” Rosita chirps. “Met up with Glenn after the prison. We eventually found your sister too.” Rosita sends her a sneaky look. “Reunion was cute and all, but real sappy. They always like that?”

Beth can see it now, limbs so intertwined that they look like one, and her lips curl a little at the image. “Always been that way.”

“Hmm,” Rosita muses. “Gross.”

Beth huffs out a sound of amusement, and Rosita keeps talking. “She’s a great woman though, your sister. She’s done things for me that—“ Rosita’s breath hitches a little, and Beth looks to see drawn brows and parted lips, as if Rosita is trying to assign words to whatever it is she’s feeling. “Things that I admire… things that I appreciate.”

“That’s Maggie for ya,” Beth offers.

“Sure, but,” Rosita quickly says, stopping as they round the front of the church. Maggie has already perked up at Beth’s entrance, her spine straightening from her slouch against the fire truck. “I think that’s _you_ , too.”

Beth doesn’t understand what Rosita is trying to say, but the older woman faces her completely and touches her again, as if to remind her she’s there, that she’s sympathizing and she’s emoting alongside Beth. “I don’t know you, but I admire you too. It takes a hell of a lot of spunk to do what you’ve done on your own.” She chuckles a bit. “Something ‘bout them Greene girls, I figure.”

Rosita tugs on a lock of her ponytail before she backtracks off, leaving Beth with a wink and a friendly grin. Maggie reaches Beth first, an eyebrow quirked as Rosita saunters off towards Abraham and Tara.

“What was that about?” Maggie asks, voice lilting with curiosity.

Beth smiles a little. “Nothing. An introduction, I guess.”

Maggie loops her arm through Beth’s, silently taking most of Beth’s weight against her side. “Let’s go meet the others, then.”

  
  


ii.

Tara tells Beth that her stitched up gashes are like battle trophies. “They’re badass, seriously,” she emphasizes, eyebrows raised as if impressed.

Beth supposes maybe they are, and maybe they will be—but now, they are wounds, and they ache, and they remind Beth of things she hasn’t entirely shaken off.

 

 

 

 

iii.

Noah tends to lurk around either Beth or Daryl. He doesn’t really fit in, but he has nowhere else to go, not by himself with a hindering leg and a single handgun.

“We have matching limps,” Noah jokes with her on her second day back with the group, sitting down beside her on the porch of the tainted church. He stretches out leisurely beside her, his face contorted in painful relief. He sighs before throwing a smirk at her. “Except you pull it off better.”

Beth’s neutral smile softens into a genuine one. “Hate to break it to you, but yours is way worse.”

Noah scoffs. “Little miss sass over here. I did not wake up expecting _this_ from _you_ , of all people.”

Beth chuckles a bit, her teeth flashing in the sunlight, and Noah’s expression softens. “Glad to see you laughing, though.” His tone is so unlike normal that it takes her by surprise, her head twitching left towards him immediately.

“What do you mean?” she replies, but she already knows the answer.

He shrugs. “Dunno. You’re just quiet. Figured Dawn must’ve done something after I left. You’ve got bruises and scars but… I can tell it’s more than that.”

Beth tilts her head a little. Noah is the only person here who _really_ understands Dawn, potentially even more than Beth does. He understands Dawn’s mood swings, her weak will, her stubbornness and her shattered perception of the world. Dawn was one of the scariest, most corrupted people Beth has ever seen—and she’s in the back of Beth’s mind, saying she’s strong, saying she’s weak, and Beth can’t shake her.

“I saved her life,” Beth says. “And then I killed her.”

Noah does not shirk back; his gaze stays level, his emotions do not change. “And thank God you did.”

“I wasn’t gonna let her take you,” Beth whispers. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Noah’s quiet, rubbing his nose in thought. “Don’t think I can ever thank you for that properly.”

“Don’t need to,” She responds quickly. “Everyone here is throwin’ ‘round apologies and gratitude to me. Figure we should all just say it real silently, with our actions instead of our words, y’know?” She thinks of Daryl, then.

“I can imagine that,” Noah nods. “Your sister has been worshipping Daryl for at least sixteen hours now. Offered to clean his clothes and everything.” Beth snorts, but Noah keeps talking. “Obviously, just for tracking you down. You did the rest on your own.”

“I had you,” Beth denies him. “And my family, they were there too—in my head, I mean.”

Noah rolls his eyes with a crooked smile. “You know what I’m sayin’, Beth.” He throws an arm around her neck, tugging her towards him and pulling on her ponytail. “You are _way_ too stubborn. Gonna have to teach you a lesson about authority. Respect your elders.”

“Elders?” she questions, her voice high and inquisitive. “What are you, eighteen?”

Noah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, why do you say it like that? Are you thirty-five? Have you discovered the fountain of youth during the end of the world?”

Beth laughs genuinely, and she playfully shoves at him. “I just turned nineteen. How about respecting _your_ elders?” Noah scoffs and puts on a scandalized face, making her laugh again. He tells her a story about his uncle and his cousin, from back before the world went to shit, and it has Beth laughing, smiling, and healing.

And if she had been paying attention—Beth would have seen the way Maggie whips to face her when she laughs, the way Daryl’s head snaps up from cleaning his crossbow at the sound of her voice.

 

 

 

 

iv.

It feels good to laugh again, to smile and be genuine. Grady Memorial had suppressed that in Beth. She doesn’t wake up with a smile anymore, almost out of fear that Dawn or O’Donnel or Gorman is in her doorway, watching her, waiting for a slip of weakness or a reason to prove their place.

She still feels like she’s changed severely in such a short amount of time, however. Feels hollow sometimes, when she’s walking around or sitting down by herself. She’s with her family but she’s still not all there—a piece of her was left behind in that hospital room, discarded with the hospital gown she threw away the second she woke up disorientated and vulnerable and absolutely, positively manipulated.

Sometimes she spaces out. The worst time is when she offers to help Carl fix up the office in the church, tidying up haphazardly discarded books and papers. She spots the bloodstain near the removed floorboards, where Carl says he, Michonne and Judith escaped from. As he talks, she listens but she doesn’t absorb; the bloodstains draw her in, they hypnotize her and confuse her and she thinks about Gorman’s wound, or the blood spurting out of Dawn’s throat, or the dark and dried resonance of death on her hands.

Beth feels crippling defiance sneak up her spine, feels Gorman’s hand run under her shirt, feels the initial fear and pain from when she woke up in the hospital bed alone, her last memories of Daryl yelling at her to run, run to the road where he’d meet her, where walkers overran her and everything goes black.

“Beth?” Carl asks, concern lacing his voice. “You alright?”

She snaps back to reality with a harsh gasp. “Yeah, Carl. I—I’m alright.”

Beth’s lying.

 

 

 

 

v.

Beth knows Carl will tell. She expects Maggie, but she gets Daryl instead.

“Hey,” he calls out to her the day afterwards as she walks down the church steps for some air. “C’mere.”

She approaches casually, her leg a little less inhibiting than it had been the day before. He’s kneeling in the leaves, six or seven squirrels laid across the ground in front of him. His knife catches the sunlight, and her eyes flicker to it; smooth, bloody, deadly. Daryl squints up at her, his eyes scanning over her features. “Got a minute?”

“Sure,” Beth pushes her loose baby hair out of her face, attempting to sit smoothly. Daryl stands quickly and slides a hand to the small of her back, easing her down so her leg doesn’t ache. His palm is warm and it burns through the fabric of her sweater. “Guttin’ some squirrels?”

Daryl grunts. “You remember how?” He hands her his knife.

“’Course I do,” Beth quirks a brow. “How could I forget a Dixon lesson?”

The corner of his mouth lifts a little, and he looks at her through his long, shaggy hair. “Hmm. Show me.”

It’s methodical and systematic, the way she skins the squirrel, nicks the little organs out and saves the meat inside. She almost feels transported back to weeks ago—the sun beginning to start its downward arc behind the treeline, Daryl crouching behind her, murmuring in her ear the steps to cleanly save the meat. He taught her right after the first day she used his crossbow, and she picked up on the skill very quickly. Daryl’s knife fits into her hand perfectly, and she moves it with ease.

She’s removing the squirrel’s small heart when he speaks again. “You doing alright?” His voice is softer, like the way it was at the funeral home. “Y’know, you ain’t, uh—hurt, or anything?”

Beth’s covered in bruises and stitches and bullet wounds, but Daryl doesn’t mean that. She glances up at him, her hands slippery with the squirrel’s blood. Her eyes are big and guileless. “I’m doin’ okay. How are you?”

Daryl’s eyes narrow in thought and he bites his lip. “M’good. Better,” he adds, voice getting even quieter. Beth’s skin heats and she can’t stop the way her lips move, her teeth exposed in a genuine half-smile. She huffs out a little laugh at his bashfulness.

“Oh, really?” Beth aligns the saved meat on the small patch of tarp Daryl has left out, discarding the unusable bits and picking up the next one. Beth sneaks another look at him, and he’s studying her, his hand rubbing his scruff subconsciously. He’s watching her hands, her face, her lips. He isn’t hiding it, and Beth feels his gaze in her toes. “Wonder why.”

 His lips twitch again. “Smartass,” he grumbles. “M’serious, though.”

“I’m serious too, Daryl,” Beth responds, a sigh on her lips. She slips the knife under the skin, peeling back the flesh to reach the insides. “Everyone’s treatin’ me like some kind of doll. Don’t need you doing it too.”

“I know you ain’t no doll, Beth,” Daryl’s thumb hits his mouth; his nervous gesture. “Jus’ trying to make sure you’re okay.”

“Carl say somethin’ to you?” She flips the blade in her hand so she can hold it steadier as she carefully removes a long strip of meat.

Daryl hums in agreement.

Beth is silent, and she feels Daryl’s eyes on her. He’s sitting back on the leaves, one knee propped up with his elbow resting on top. He’s contemplative and careful with his words.

“It ain’t—“ Daryl sighs, his frustration focused more on his lack of articulation, his fragile composure. “It’s not because I think there’s somethin’ wrong with ya, Beth. You can take care of yourself.” And Beth’s in the country club again, wine flowing down her fingers from the smashed bottle she used to kill the walker, and he’s saying the same thing to her. “I just wanted ya to know that—I’unno, I’m…” Daryl rubs his eyes. “M’here. I mean it, Beth.”

Her fingers stop moving across the flesh, and she faces him fully now. Daryl’s an open book to her, and he has been ever since she spent those countless weeks in the woods with him. She sees sincerity, and happiness—affection, and vulnerability. “I ain’t the best at this,” he adds; acting as if it’s a condolence, voice deep and rolling in her head like waves.

“We can go back to how it was,” Daryl continues. “You an’ me. I’ll teach ya the crossbow some more. Some trackin’. Ain’t gotta stop, jus’ because there’s an audience,” He grins, but his words are a question, and he’s asking Beth for permission.

Beth tilts her head a little, her ponytail flicking out. The movement catches Daryl’s eye and he watches it for only a split second—but Beth notices all the same. She notices the way he hangs onto her words and her actions. She notices how he’s been keeping close to her, even when she’s with Maggie, or someone else. She notices his attachment—she thinks she has been seeing it since the funeral home, since her little _oh_ that began her revelation, her understanding.

Her smile is sweet, slow, and full-fledged. “That a promise, Daryl Dixon?”

She sees the change in him instantaneously. He relaxes, bringing his thumb away from his mouth. “Yeah.”

He scoots towards her, whipping out another knife to start on one of the remaining squirrels. It’s quiet and companionable, the way they work in harmony.

But there’s something about this that’s different, because Beth feels _electricity_ coming off Daryl’s skin. She’s hyperaware of Daryl’s closeness, his size, his sturdiness. She can see every movement of his hands as he strips the squirrel down—faster than her with defter motions, removing the meat with smaller swipes of the knife. It’s just him sitting down, gutting a squirrel with no semblance of restraint. He is raw and authentic beside her, and he is not cowering away. Beth is struck by how torrential this attention for him is. She guts her squirrel with only half her mind active, the other half thinking about Daryl and his tenderness and his loyalty.

Beth thinks she’s known for a good bit now that he feels something for her, and as she sits next to him, their fingers and knives soaked in blood and intestines, she realizes that there’s something inside her unfurling, as if seeing the sun and blooming for the first time, and it’s beautiful and intimidating, but irrevocably real.

 

 


	3. misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group takes a vote, and Beth and Maggie have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response has again been overwhelming! sorry about the wait.. it's really hard (personally) to write considering it all, sort of like creativity has been dampened because of her death i guess? anyway, the plot moves on! kinda.
> 
> "when you care about people, hurt is kind of a part of the package." --beth, infected (season 4)

 

i.

A few days after her conversation with Daryl, Beth tracks down a rabbit and kills it with his crossbow.

Her smile after shooting the creature is almost painful from the stretch of her skin. The kill is exhilarating and familiar, and as she whips around in the cover of the trees, her hair swinging behind her as she locks eyes with Daryl—she _beams_ , her eyes sparkling with accomplishment.

“Nice shot,” Daryl praises, teeth glinting in the sun that trickles through the canopy of trees. “Through the eye, too. Clean kill. Ya did good.”

Beth’s smile stays plastered to her face as she ducks through the foliage. The pain in her leg has become manageable, so she easily crouches and sneaks through the leaves to reach her kill. “You’re right,” Beth replies as she takes in the bolt piercing the rabbit’s eye. “I _did_ do good.”

Daryl follows close behind, squatting beside Beth as she does. He plucks the bolt from the eye and wipes it down with a rag, loading the clean one back into his bow and readying it for Beth again. “Here,” he hands it back to her. She watches as he starts the beginning of a belt of hunted prey, throwing it over his shoulder as he stands.

“Wrist feelin’ better?” Daryl asks as she briefly struggles to adjust her fingers around the trigger, her cast clunking against the metal of the weapon. “Figure we could cut it off, soon.”

“Don’t feel anythin’. Doesn’t mean it’s healed, though. Give it a few more days, maybe.” Beth’s lips twitch into a frown. “I broke my arm back in middle school, had the cast on for about two months. I was only at the hospital for a couple of weeks, I figure.”

Daryl’s silent, and when Beth looks at him, his bright blue eyes are locked on to her. He briefly glances down—he looks bashful, reluctant—before hesitantly speaking. “How bad was it.” It’s less of a question, and more of a statement; a hesitant, sincere plea. It’s like Daryl wants to know, wants the assurance, but he’s afraid of asking for her to respond.

Beth quirks a brow, shifting her weight onto her good leg. “What’re you referrin’ to?” Her clarification is a formality, at best.

He works his lips as he stalls. Beth notices he gets fidgety when her full attention is on him, so she returns to the tracks she had been following before the rabbit caught her eye. Once Daryl is following behind her, he clarifies, “The hospital.”

Beth steps around a few brittle twigs as she tries to gather the words. What exactly _was_ the hospital? More than anything, it confused Beth. From Doctor Edwards to Dawn to the unwilling submission of an entire team of police officers—it didn’t make sense to her while she was there, and now that she’s out of it, she still can’t quite figure it out.

“It was strange,” she understates. “Dawn kept saying she was waitin’ on people. Never said who, though. Just… people.” She’s silent for a moment. “Probably meant the government, or something.”

Daryl snorts behind her, and Beth keeps talking. “None of them had ever been out here. Didn’t know what it was like. Acted like them bein’ cops was the biggest deal, in the middle of the apocalypse.”

She glances over her shoulder, and Daryl gives her a half-hearted smirk. “Cops, right?”

Beth rolls her eyes, but she smiles all the same. “I know. The _worst_.”

“Dawn seemed off her goddamned rocker,” Daryl admits. Beth slows her strides until they’re walking next to each other, Daryl’s right arm consistently bumping into her angled elbow.

“I don’t think she was all there,” Beth’s voice is quieter now. She thinks about Hanson, O’Donnel. “I don’t think—“

She sees blood coating her hands, red and stained. Sees Dawn’s wide eyes as she falls to the ground. Hears the squelch of the scissors piercing the hollow of the woman’s throat.

Beth sucks a deep breath, gripping the crossbow tight to steel herself. She blinks hard to remove the visions stuck to the back of her eyelids. “I don’t think I wanna talk about Dawn.”

“Shit,” Daryl mutters beside her. He runs his hands over his face, stopping to pinch the bridge of his nose. “M’sorry, Beth. Wasn’t even thinkin’.”

“It’s not on you, Daryl.” Beth sighs. The trail she’s following cuts off by a tree, and she squints to find any other paths. “Squirrel,” she mutters, more to herself than anything. “Up the tree.”

Daryl makes no comment—he shrinks back behind her, scratching his head, and Beth sighs, turning to face him. “It’s not on you. It’s not on anybody. It’s like a wound, y’know? It needs time, space to breathe. It’ll be okay,” She hopes her smile is reassuring. “I’ll be okay.”

He nods slowly, as if he doesn’t believe her. “Hope so.”

Beth opens her mouth to respond, but a rustle in the trees above her catches her attention. She raises the crossbow and watches the movement of the leaves, aims like Daryl has taught her, and pulls the trigger.

A squirrel falls to the forest floor, the shot not quite as clean as the one on the rabbit, but a kill nonetheless. Beth grins and hands the crossbow to Daryl.

As he reloads, Daryl mutters, “Y’gonna replace me soon ‘nough, Greene.”

Beth laughs.

 

 

 

 

ii.

When Sasha serves up dinner that night, she slaps the entirety of Beth’s rabbit on her plate. “Heard you deserve it,” she smiles. It’s thin and half-hearted, but Sasha is trying to recover—Maggie whispered the details to her one night, horrifying and nightmarish stories about cannibals and truncated relationships—and Beth understands the internal battle, the struggle to be something you aren’t. She smiles softly back at Sasha and thanks her genuinely.

Beth sidles up next to Rick and Judith in one of the pews, the rabbit heavy on her dish. She picks off a few small strands of the meat and hands it to Judith, the baby eagerly consuming the overcooked food.

“She’s takin’ to solid food real well,” Beth admits. “Was worried ‘bout that, honestly.”

Rick looks up at her, and a small smile peeks through his bushy beard. “She’s a trooper, that’s for sure.”

Beth hums her agreement, using a clean knife to split her catch in half. Once she finishes, she cranes her neck upwards towards the front of the church, where Sasha has stationed herself. There’s a small group of people waiting for Sasha to serve them their portion, and at the very back of it waits Daryl, arms crossed with his hands tucked into himself.

She stands to get his attention, opens her mouth to call his name, but he beats her to it. Just the movement of her standing up catches Daryl’s eye, and he turns his head towards Beth before she can even say a word. With a small smile, she jerks her head in a beckoning manner.

Beth sits back as Daryl immediately responds, her eyes watching him weave through the dense group of people to reach the pews. Rick chuckles beside her.

“What?” Beth questions, voice lilting in curiosity.

Rick gives her a sneaky look, his forehead scrunching as he raises his eyebrows. Beth can see the playfulness in Rick’s eyes. He’s teasing her without words, and it makes her cheeks flush. “Shut up,” she mutters as Daryl reaches their pew, Rick grinning beside her as Beth becomes increasingly aware of Daryl as he approaches her.

Daryl breathes out a greeting as he slides into the pew. “W’sup?”

Beth pushes her plate towards him. “We split the rabbit.” She points to one of the halves. “You get us a plate of whatever canned good Sasha’s got cookin’, and we’ll share the meat.”

“It’s your first kill,” Daryl argues, but Beth shoots him her best no-nonsense look, and his mouth closes with a smirk.

“You loaded the bolt, Mr. Dixon,” Her expression is mirthful. “You kinda killed it too, y’know.”

Daryl laughs through his nose, scratching his scruff as he looks up at her through his fringe. “Somethin’ ‘bout that logic ain’t make much sense, Greene.” He stands up anyway, tossing over his shoulder, “Think we’re havin’ corn, tonight.” Daryl faces her again raised brows and quirked lips.

“My favorite,” Beth jokes, her voice light and fake like a southern belle, and Daryl smiles slightly before heading back towards Sasha.

He leaves Beth sitting in the wooden pew like an absolute fool, a grin unconsciously plastered onto her face. She watches him cut in front of Glenn to get the two of them a plate of soggy, over-sweetened corn. It makes her heart pound, the way they share with each other, their openness, their comfort.

Rick snorts. “Interesting, is what that is,” he comments slyly.

(She can’t deny it.)

 

 

 

 

iii.

She doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something magnetic about being near Daryl. Beth has found herself drifting towards him the past few days, yearning for some familiar comfort amidst the emotionally and physically draining experience that her recovery has been. Beth has Dawn’s blood on her hands, haunting little voices in her head, and a newly stunted perception of reality—but then she’ll look up and Daryl’s there, chewing on his thumb or fiddling with his crossbow, and she might as well be back at the funeral home with him, having a redneck’s meal with pig’s feet and jelly, scar-less and untainted and beautifully distracted by the conundrum that is Daryl Dixon.

Beth struggles with the oncoming revelation of her feelings for this man. She’s been so preoccupied with her survival the past few weeks—adjusting to a new environment, dealing with Dawn and the doctor and the cops—but Daryl’s been on a tidal wave of tempos, up and down, back and forth between a hectic pace and a slow, grueling crawl. God knows what he did after she was taken; they haven’t talked about it, haven’t mentioned it. He could have had all the time in the world to think of her, but Beth has had only moments to think of him.

But now—now Beth is free. She is unchained and allowed to think on this unexpected relationship. She can take a moment and sit down, watch Daryl as he works or talks, watch his interactions and note the little things he does that she didn’t get to discover when it was just the two of them, alone in the woods with no one’s shoulder to lean on but each other’s.

Her relationship with Daryl is the one thing she’s had to herself for a long time.

That is—until Maggie picks up on it.

 

 

 

 

iv.

Rick holds a group vote on their next move a week after the hospital. It’s right after dinner, and the entire group has gathered around the front once again. At Beth’s insistence, Noah mentions his place with walls up near Richmond—Alexandria, he calls it.

It’s a unanimous vote. They plan to leave in two days.

Daryl pulls Beth aside after they vote. He had watched her raise her hand with no hesitation, and she’s struck with confusion at the insistence at his tug on her arm. Beth frowns as he leads her towards the end of a pew, the group separating behind them.

“Y’feelin’ up to this?” he asks her, hand resting on the sharp angle of her elbow. He stands over her a little. It’s more of a comfort than an intimidation.

“Of course,” Beth responds, voice soft and reassuring. “I’m just fine. You talked to Carol?”

Daryl nods, his eyes flickering over to the older woman. “Talked to her this morning—Rick mentioned the vote last night. Says she’s doing better. Doesn’t hurt as much to move now,” his mouth twitches, and Beth sees the way his lips turn down at the corner. “She can walk just fine. We’ve got the truck, anyway.”

Beth hums. “Wish we had some epinephrine, and an IV drip,” she mutters with a small laugh, internally scoffing at her want for that farfetched luxury. “Would really help her function better.”

Daryl looks at her funny, a brow raised, and Beth stutters on reflex. “Oh—sorry, it’s… a drug, that I gave Carol at the hospital,” she explains. “An epinephrine drip. Slowed her blood pressure so she could heal.”

“I look like a fuckin’ doctor to you?” he responds, but his eyes and tone are teasing and Daryl looks proud, impressed. He leans forward slightly as he jests, “Nurse Greene, is that righ’?”

She tries not to snort, so she settles for pushing his shoulder with a smile, looking up at him through her lashes as he grins. “Quit it, _Mr. Dixon_. Y’got a watch you need to be tendin’ to.”

He grunts, and flashes her a look before he turns, heading outside for the first shift. He leaves with Beth watching the way his shoulders tilt, the bob of the angel wings on his back. She pinpoints the width of his chest, the strength of his steps, and she experiences the familiar heart-throbbing awareness that Daryl’s been giving her the past few days. Beth is so caught up in his residual that she doesn’t notice Maggie stride purposefully across the church, steady in her peripheral, because Beth’s eyes are glued to Daryl ducking out the front door.

Maggie clears her throat, and it takes all of Beth to not flinch at the suddenness of the noise. “I think we need a sister-to-sister moment,” Maggie announces, her defined brows pointedly raised as if to make a statement. “Y’know. Talk about girly things. Clothes. Hair. _Boys._ ”

“Maggie—“ Beth starts, but the elder Greene puts up a finger to shush her.

“No, Bethy, there’s no gettin’ out of this one. You, me, and the office. Come on, now.” Maggie pushes against Beth’s lower back. Her actions are stern but there’s a lightness to her voice that has Beth a little wary. “Got some catchin’ up to do.” Beth catches Glenn’s eyes as Maggie pushes her towards the room at the back. He’s laughing, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes crinkled at the sight.

Beth flashes him the middle finger, and she thinks knows what’s coming.

 

 

 

 

v.

Beth assumes she’s correct about Maggie’s intentions as her older sister closes the door to the spare room. She had worked up some steel to line her skin; she had squared her shoulders, furrowed her brows, widened her stance. She had prepared herself to shoot down whatever it was that Maggie wanted to confront her about.

 “Sit down, Bethy,” Maggie gestures to the two chairs pushed across from each other. The room looks set up, like Maggie’s had this planned for hours, but Beth knows it’s just a coincidence.

Beth moves towards the chairs. Her fingers run over the smooth wood of the furniture, and her eyes flick up towards her sister. “Maggie, don’t—“

“Sit down,” Maggie reiterates, but this time her voice is tight and demanding—it’s the Maggie that Beth knows, it’s her bossy big sister sitting her down to say what’s on her mind, and Beth slides in to the chair obediently, her hands clasped and her lips flat and thin.

Maggie seats herself across from Beth, mirroring her posture. The clipped hair around Maggie’s face sways as she looks around, worrying her lip, her big and bright green eyes boring into Beth’s.

“I’m going to start off with a disclaimer of sorts,” Maggie sighs, the twang of her voice deep and punctuated. “I’m not claiming to know the specifics of anything that’s goin’ on with you and Daryl, but—“

“Don’t sit there and try to chastise me,” Beth interrupts. Her emotions are bubbling in her chest, because how _dare_ her own blood kin try to criticize her for choices, how _dare_ Maggie fight her on preemptive tendencies, on going for what feels right, on taking whatever you can in this fucked up world and _latching on to it_ — “Don’t act like you’ve gotta play Daddy. I make my _own_ decisions—“

“Beth, I am not trying to _chastise_ you,” her sister’s forehead is scrunched as she looks on, bewildered. Whatever defiant being Beth has become since the prison burned to the ground is a little startling to Maggie; it’s Beth’s inherent stubbornness mixed with a clear and deep understanding of the circumstances of their lives, it’s whatever Beth was before the prison magnified and multiplied by her time alone in the hospital, fending for herself, experiencing true independence and self-sufficiency for maybe the first time in her entire life.

Maggie’s mouth opens and closes once as she looks at Beth, who is almost trembling with the insane amount of emotion she’s brimming with. Maggie leans forward a little. “Playing Daddy? I’m not trying to give you the _talk_ —“

“Then what is this?” Beth heaves out a breath, her hands unclasping to smooth down the fabric of her jeans, unintentionally pulling against the almost-healed wound on her leg. It’s a little jolt into reality, and she tries to calm a bit. “I don’t—I don’t want this… this _confrontation_ from you, Maggie—“

“ _Beth_!” and it’s almost a shout, and a little more than a hiss; it’s loud enough to quiet whatever resistance Beth has managed, and she slinks back into her seat. Her hands clasp together again, and Maggie takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, muttering something unintelligible to herself.

When her eyes reopen, they’re softer, more tender than they were before. “Honey, I don’t know what you’ve worked yourself into, but I’m not trying to sit here and run your life. I don’t—oh god, I don’t _care_ if you’ve got a crush on Daryl, I don’t even—“ Maggie puts her head in her hands and pushes her hair behind her ears. Beth watches, her mouth running a little dry. “Did you think that’s what this is? That I would drag you in here and yell at you for getting cozy with Daryl?”

Beth rolls her lip, and her silence answer’s Maggie’s question. Maggie laughs a little. “Bethy, no. I would—I would never.”

“What is it, then?” This time, Beth’s voice is softer.

And now Maggie seems speechless. She sits across from Beth and concentrates on the floor beside Beth, as if trying to connect her words in her head. Beth waits, and waits, until Maggie sighs again and squeezes her eyes shut.

“After Daddy died,” Maggie starts, and with just those words Beth feels her heart beginning to concave in on itself. It’s the conversation the two sisters haven’t had yet, it’s the unspoken thought behind half of their meaningful glances, and Beth’s had months to prepare, but she doesn’t even feel slightly ready.

Maggie shudders before starting again. “After Daddy died, I was just kind of… numb.” She can’t even look Beth in the eye; her sight is locked on the floor again, the words slowly escaping her as if she’s unwilling to discuss it. “Bob and Sasha helped. Bob was always so cheerful, optimistic. Sasha was real supportive. We were both looking for people.”

Beth starts to say her sister’s name, but Maggie quiets her with a glance. “I never really thought about Daddy. Yeah, I’d see it right before I fell asleep, but I tried not to focus on it. Tried not to let it get to me.

“But, when I found Glenn, though—“ Maggie’s breaths are shaky, and she’s holding back tears. “Right when I told myself, okay, you’re almost okay again, maybe now things will get better… I realized that I didn’t—didn’t get to say anythin’ to Daddy. Didn’t get to tell him that I loved him, last I saw him. Didn’t get to give him a hug or a kiss, didn’t get to give him one last smile. He died watchin’ us cry and scream, and Daddy— he… he didn’t deserve that.”

Maggie looks up and meets Beth’s eyes. They are both teary, the memory of their father a suffocating presence in the room, and Beth wonders if her Daddy is with them now in the church, or if he’s looking down on them from heaven, or if he’s nothing but a rotten corpse, head separated from his body with maggots and walkers devouring his flesh.

“Caring about people comes with a lot of baggage, Beth.” Maggie is earnest, her face pleading with Beth to listen. “But it also comes with a responsibility. In this day n’ age, you’re not ever gonna know when you or someone else’s last day is coming. Y’gotta treat every day like it’s your last. You feel like telling someone you love them? Do it. You feel like huggin’ and kissin’ on someone? Do it.”

Her sister’s grin is wide, bright and toothy. It’s happy despite her almost-tears. “Y’wanna walk up to Daryl Dixon and tell him, listen here mister, I have been through hell and high water to get back here with you, so _act_ like it, then you do it.”

Beth snorts out a laugh, and Maggie echoes her. Maggie reaches across the gap between them, and her hand sits on Beth’s knee, cupping it and squeezing with affection. “Second chances aren’t given to us freely, Beth. I plan on taking advantage of it. It’d be wise for you to do the same.”

Nodding, Beth wipes her leaky eyes and nose before reaching forward to wrap her arms around her sister. Maggie’s arms had used to be the second safest place to her, back on the farm, after her mother and step-brother had turned, and two years later it’s the same; Beth could name only a few places she’d rather be.

“I love you, Maggie,” Beth whispers into Maggie’s neck.

The elder Greene’s arms tighten. “Love you too, Bethy.”

 

 


End file.
